


Chemicals

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blow Jobs, Bulges and Nooks, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Photography Majors Dave and Eridan, Post-Sburb/Sgrub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-07 01:38:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1880109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You told him you needed help with your photography project, but you really needed something a little less innocent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chemicals

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roundandtalented](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roundandtalented/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I don't know anything about photography. I asked a couple of my friends and they told me some things but I'm still worried I misunderstood them, so please forgive me if I made mistakes.

Maybe you should have thought this through a little more. You probably didn’t need Dave to stay in the darkroom with you for two and a half hours while you did exposure tests just so he could look at them for two minutes and tell you which ones he liked the best. It pains you to think that you might have wasted a significant portion of his day.

Then again, when you knocked on his door, he was just playing shitty video games and eating junk food, so it’s possible he didn’t have anything better to do. He hasn’t complained once, and he’s been talking to you the whole time—about plans he has for his comics, shit John has said recently, the weird stuff on his Bro’s weird puppet website. He’s just been leaning against the counter, talking, while you do all the work. Which is fine. You didn’t intend for him to do your exposure tests for you. That’s not what you meant by ‘helping.’

Part of the reason you’re feeling guilty is you didn’t actually need his help in the first place. This was basically the only way you could think to get him alone before the next time his roommate would have been out, but you figured by then you would have lost your nerve. Still, you have to follow through with this or you’re going to look silly and this whole experience will just amount to a waste of his time.

You pull the photography paper out from under the exposure light and look at it. Dave moves away from the counter and rests his pointy chin on your shoulder. You’ve always found it odd how physical and friendly he is. He does things a moirail would do, but he says he doesn’t believe in quadrant stuff, and has insisted that he’s like this with everyone. Regardless, you can’t help the warm feeling that spread through you when you feel his breath on your gills.

“All done?” he asks.

“Yeah, I think. I’ve got three for this one and four for this one and four for this one.” You hand him a stack of untreated photos and he starts shuffling through them slowly, looking carefully at your work.

After a minute or so, he’s seen all of them. He sets the beach and the train tracks down and looks at the park. “I think for this one the second test is the best, but make it a tiny bit darker around the trees.” You nod, and he sets the park down and picks up the beach. “And for this one… What did you do for the cliffs? Eight seconds?” He points to the first print.

“Seven,” you answer.

“Use this one and make it eight.”

“Okay.”

The train tracks are your favorite. You like the third one the best, but you think he’ll go for the fourth. It’s more his style. He surprises you by picking up the third. “This one. It’s perfect. Very you.”

Somehow that feels like a serious compliment. “How do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I guess it feels like it has a story. Kind of a sad story, but also something hopeful. Like it’s leading to better things just beyond this picture. Maybe that’s dumb. I don’t know. Anyway, don’t just go with my suggestions. You should do whatever you want to do with them.” He picks up all the papers and straightens them before handing them to you. “We good?” he asks, picking up his shades from the counter and taking an inquisitive step towards the door.

 _Come on_ , you prod yourself. All your past rejections are getting to you, though. You remember each individual one. They didn’t bother you much at the time, but that was before you got chainsawed in half by your friend. After you murdered her. Before you got resurrected at the end of the game and had to face them again. You kind of started rethinking everything about how you lived your life before, since you were given another chance. It’s made you less bold.

But your crush on him is eating at you. It’s not as if your heart is beating all that much faster than it normally does around him. Maybe if you tell him, you can stop living like you’re going to have a longing-induced heart attack.

“Um, actually, there’s something else,” you manage after too long of a silence and with too solemn of an expression. He puts his shades back on the counter and sticks his hands in his pockets.

You twist one of your rings in an endless circle around your finger. This particular one is too tight, and the difficulty of turning it is almost distracting, but then again you don’t want to focus on this if it goes to hell. “Okay, fuck knows the last time I did this seriously it turned out awful as shit and I overall ended up losin my best friend, but…” You take a deep breath. Your fins are flat against your neck. Dave’s expression doesn’t change, and for once you wish it would. Maybe a little bit of sympathy for what’s making you nervous would put you at ease a little. But then again, if it came from him, maybe it wouldn’t, because it would be strange to see him break over something as regular as you being uncomfortable.

You utter a tiny little ‘glub’ of frustration, an old habit that you haven’t let die for reasons unknown to you. Your eyes flutter down for just a second, but you’re determined to look him in the eyes when you say it, if only because you have the rare opportunity to actually see them. That, and you’re goddamn royalty. It may not mean anything on this planet, but it still counts for something to you. You have to hold yourself to some kind of standard. “…I kinda got this little, er…flush crush on you.”

His expression barely changes—his eyes go a tiny bit wider, and the very corners of his mouth twitch. Other than that, he doesn’t move at all. He stays leaning against the counter, and as his silence extends for seconds and seconds, you imagine the five feet between you growing to a mile. You wish it actually was.

Honestly, what you expecting? You thought since he talked to you about all his game-related baggage he actually cared about you? You were dumb enough to offer to play therapist, and he took you up on it. It was a simple symbiotic relationship of mutual feeling-sharing that probably only made him think less of you for how fucked up you are.

You dig your nails into your hand to tell your body it’s time to move. “Okay, I’m gonna go now,” you say, quiet and hurried, and make a move towards the door.

“Wait a sec, fishboy.” He catches your wrist with that freakish speed of his. His grip is firm, but not bruising. You dare to look back at him.

You think he’s clenching his jaw, and as you start your second silent staring contest with him, he swallows.

You miss a full two seconds of him kissing you because you’re getting your bearings of what’s going on. But as soon as you figure it out, your eyes drop closed and you press back against his lips with yours, fins fluttering gently, wafting little puffs of air onto your hot, blushing neck. If you remember, you’ll have to punch him in the arm and tell him using his super speed is cheating.

When he finally pulls away, you’re pretty sure you’re violet from the shoulders up, but hopefully he won’t be able to tell under the dim illumination of the safe light.

“Um, me too,” he says. Is he blushing? You think he might be.

You stare at him, unable to even feel whatever expression is on your face right now from how hard your blushing. ‘Me too?’ He…does like you? That kind of throws your whole ‘symbiotic relationship’ theory out the window. But you never would have guessed. At best you thought you were just friends. Maybe humans are just that different than trolls. They form attachments easier, since they only have one quadrant, or something. Does that even make sense? Should it be the other way around? You’re too dizzy to try to comprehend it. Your flush crush just kissed you, and said he liked you back, and now he’s blushing and you’re blushing and trying to figure out what to do next. But you have an idea.

He’s still holding your wrist, like he’s forgotten about it. You gently pull your arm away so you can curl it around his torso, hugging him to you. You push your other hand through his pale hair and guide him back to your mouth.

He pauses with his lips too far away from yours for your liking and cups the sides of your face with his hands, with his thumbs resting against the base of your happily wiggling fins. “That’s goddamn adorable,” he whispers, smiling. “You know, I knew something was up when you asked me to help you. For one thing, you never ask for help with anything, and for another thing, your pictures are amazing and you don’t need it.”

If any of the color had drained away from your face, it’s back now. You can control them if you focus, but mostly you just let them do what they do naturally. “Shut up and kiss me,” you mutter back at him.

“Yessir.” He presses soft kisses to your lips that nearly kill you because you’ve wanted them so badly for so long, and now you’re finally getting them. You’re questioning if this is even real by the time he’s biting lightly at your lips, asking for you to part them. You gladly do, welcoming his tongue with yours, twining them together. You revel in how he tastes—like Doritos, which you’ve never been terribly fond of, but somehow mixed with other flavors—apple juice, maybe, and Chips Ahoy—it’s nice. You worry a little because you haven’t had too much experience with this. You’re sure he’s had way more than you, anyway. Maybe it would have been different if you were both new to it, but his kissing is practiced and skillful. And arousing. You wonder if it’ll be a problem if you let yourself get turned on. Now that he’s accepted you, you don’t know if you could handle him saying no.

Dave relocates his hands to your hips and steers you around until you’re backed up against the counter of the darkroom. He’s pressing flush against you now and god _damn_ you are really turned on. You take a chance, moving your hands down to his ass and grind up against him and he gasps into your mouth. You feel a little triumphant, and you grin as you bite his lip. And then you suddenly taste the bitterness of human blood in your mouth and he jerks back and oh _shit._

“Fuck, I’m sorry! Goddammit I didn’t know humans were so…squishy. Are you okay?” you babble.

He’s leaning his head against your shoulder, and you hear a wet sound as he sucks the blood from the inside of his lip. He moves back to look at you and he’s smirking. “It’s cool, I always thought I’d look good with a lip piercing. Just get me a paperclip or something that I can make into a sweet fashion statement and I’ll be good.”

You groan, not feeling as lighthearted about this as he apparently is. “We should stop. I’m sorry.”

He gives you a serious look. “No, we definitely shouldn’t. That’s like plan double Z, meaning you have to go through the goddamn alphabet twice to get to that shitty-ass plan. The jerking back thing was just surprise. Seriously, you don’t even know how turned on I am right now. Like, if you actually want to stop, don’t do that again, or I don’t know if I can be responsible for my dick. I mean not actually because that would be beyond shitty if you didn’t want that and I am so not that guy, but—Ahhh, _shit,_ Eridan!”

You had gone for his the exposed junction between his neck and shoulder, sinking your sharp teeth into his soft flesh, marveling with a little horror how easy it was. You suppose trolls must have evolved to have thicker skin, since many of you—yourself included—have rather deadly fangs.

You don’t really care too much about evolution when he grinds hard into your crotch. You groan and grind back, licking the blood up from his abused neck. Your bulge is half unsheathed in the small space of your goddamn too-tight pants. Why do you even wear these, goddamn you.

He buries his face in your neck again as you rut against each other. His face is right next to your neck again, and his breath, coming out a little raggedly, is tickling your gills. You run your nails down his back, digging them in harder than you might normally since you know he likes it, though not so hard that you’re slicing through his shirt. He starts kissing your skin where the low collar of your shirt is exposing it, traveling up towards your gills. You think of stopping him. You wore a scarf for so long when you were younger because you didn’t like things touching your gills. But this is Dave, and this is a different situation.

You flat-out shake when he licks along the delicate underside of one and your bulge slips out another inch. Okay, you _didn’t_ like things touching your gills, past tense. You’ve never felt anything like that before. He chuckles against them and moves to the next one up, flattening his tongue over it, and you gasp and press your hips hard up against his, dying to be free of your pants.

As if he read your mind, or maybe just felt the squirming coming from your groin, he suddenly drops to his knees and rests his hands on the waistband of your jeans, then looks up at you. “Is this too much?” he asks breathlessly, anticipating you’re going to say yes. You have no intention of doing that. You suppose you were worrying for nothing. Is he even more excited than you? That’s unusual, and thrilling.

You flap your fins once and you have to swallow. Now that he’s offering, you’re not sure this is the best place to be doing this. It smells strongly of chemicals and the lighting is so bad you’re squinting worse than usual, even with your glasses. Not to mention, this room is free for all photography students to use. You don’t think anyone will come in since you turned the ‘In Use’ light on and the door is closed, and no one wants to risk incurring the wrath of a photography student whose prints got ruined by some intruding asshole, but still. You’re in public.

Despite your internal hesitation, you shake your head. Maybe you’re a little bit of an exhibitionist, but you can think of worse things than someone walking in on you and Dave Strider doing something intimate. He works at the button, and then the zipper, slowly, too slowly for your tastes, but you aren’t going to hurry him along because he also rubs his palm against your clothed bulge and it’s kind of nice. He pulls your pants and underwear down, and finally your bulge is free and you’re _dripping_ , god that’s embarrassing. You’re blushing again, and gripping the edge of the counter so tightly you wouldn’t be surprised if you heard a crack.

“Wow,” he says. His eyebrows are lost in his bangs. God, this would be so much less embarrassing if he weren’t a fucking alien. “I mean I kind of guessed that you guys had—It’s way cool, it’s just my first time seeing—Wow. Can I touch it?” he asks.

“I kinda thought that was the idea,” you answer honestly. Dave snorts and reaches up until your bulge curls around his fingers and god it feels good just to have contact with something. He twists his hand with its movements and it slides between his fingers until it’s curled around his pinky and he palms the thickest part of it between his thumb and index fingers. You moan, rather pitifully, and he takes the hint.

He pins your bulge against your stomach so he can get a better look at your nook. With his other hand, he slides a finger along your slit, finding the opening and pushing slowly up into it. You bite your lip and shiver again. Fuck, this is the first time someone besides you has done this and you’re pretty much over your embarrassment because it feels amazing.

You can’t even believe this is happening. You’ve wanted this for so long. All those nights you stayed up with him… You remember lying on his bed while he sat and spun in his chair, imagining getting up and stopping his movement by kissing him. And now you’ve actually gotten to do it. You’re pretty sure you’ve never felt this happy in your entire life. This is what it’s like to have a requited crush.

Happiness aside, you’re also pretty sure you’ve never been this aroused before. He pulses into you and leans forward to plant a gentle kiss on the base of your bulge. He keeps his finger going as he slowly licks along your length, keeping your tip twined around his other hand so he can draw it out.

Your hand finds its way into his hair. You wonder if it’d be okay to pull it. Judging from how he reacted to you biting him, you guess that it would, so you give a light experimental tug. He hums against your bulge and sucks on the thickest part, smoothing his tongue over it. _God_.

He eventually guides the tip of your bulge into his mouth and sucks on it and you _moan_. You think he’s smiling, or trying to smile as best he can with your junk in his mouth. He gives another hard suck and you gasp, knotting your fingers in his hair, eyes fluttering. He moans around you and swallows more of you down, and if that wasn’t enough, he pushes another finger up into you and _fuck_ you are coming apart more quickly than you hoped. You wanted to make this last. You knew that might not be possible since you’ve had so little experience in this area, but for fuck’s sake, he’s still fully clothed.

“ _Dave_ ,” you whine. Oh god, that was terrible. You try again. “Dave.” You’ve got his attention, anyway. He’s looking up at you, but he’s unsure whether you’re just calling out in pleasure or if you’ve got something to say. Which you do, but you neglected to think of the words to say it with. “I, erm.” It’s hard to think with those fingers of his pulsing up in you and the pressure on your bulge. “C-Can you stop for a second?”

You move your hand from his hair to the counter behind you and he backs off of you, pulling his hand back. You shiver a little, feeling empty. His eyebrows are just slightly drawn together with a little tiny dent between them under his bangs. “Something wrong?”

“No, I just—”

“If you don’t want to do this, I’m not gonna make you. Fuck, was I pressuring you? I mean I kissed you first but I thought you were into it and I got kind of carried away I guess and I know I said that thing about not being able to control my dick, but really I can and I won’t be disappointed or anything so if you want to stop just tell me—”

You accidentally slap him in the face with your bulge. Well, if you had gotten over your embarrassment before, it’s definitely back now.

“Shit, sorry, that wasn’t on purpose. Stand up, Jesus.” You’re hiding half your face with one hand, smudging up your glasses, no doubt, as you peek down at him between your fingers.

He stands up and wipes a little bit of your genetic material off on his sleeve. “Does this stuff stain?” he asks as an afterthought.

You bring your other hand up to your face and groan. “Why do you think we wear so much black?”

“I was kidding. This shirt’s full of holes anyway.”

You don’t say anything. You feel very silly standing with your pants around your ankles and your junk out and all slimy with material, having just bulge-slapped your crush. Maybe you should stop before you embarrass yourself further. If anything, there are probably better places to do this.

“Um, didn’t you want to say something?”

You slide your hands down your face. You’re a little overwhelmed by how embarrassed you are, but you look at him, and you still want him. You want to do for him what he was doing for you. “I was just gonna say you’re payin too much attention to me.”

He scoffs and grins. “You love it when people pay attention to you.”

Your fins flap indignantly. “Yeah, but I—” You huff. “I wanted to touch you, too.” It sounds kind of dumb when you say it, but whatever. You’re not going to get anywhere by just pansying around it. You’re certainly not going to get him any more naked, and that’s the endgame stuff right there.

“You want to touch my love sausage?” You snort, but he keeps going. “My frigamajig? My perpendicular pickle? My dingleberry? _You_ want to touch _my_ —”

“Not anymore!” you practically shout at him, shoving at his chest a little, but you’re laughing.

“No, babe, come on, I was kidding.” He leans in and kisses your neck again. “Please touch my bologna pony, I’d be so honored.”

You giggle more, and to stop, you kiss him more. He tastes saltier than before and it takes you a moment to remember why, but you don’t stop when you do. His hands move to your shoulders, over and around them, sliding down the backs of your arms. You bring your hands to the waistband of his jeans, pop open the button and slide down the zipper. Your teeth catch his lip at the same moment you slip your hand into his boxers and wrap your hand around him, so you’re not sure which makes him roll his hips hard against you.

You’re a little bit worried about the difference in your anatomy. You’ve seen human porn and they don’t treat their genitals the same way trolls do. They do this kind of vigorous up and down motion instead of twisting and squeezing. Basically, you don’t want to break him like you did when you bit him. Even if he liked it. You can imagine this going a little more wrong.

So you start slow and hold your hand fairly loosely around his prick, trying to mimic the motions you’ve seen in the few human pornos you’ve watched. You try to distract him from whatever poor-to-maybe-decent job you’re doing by kissing his throat, his wounded shoulder, his mouth. You move your other hand under his shirt and make red welts on his body by scratching them lightly with your nails.

He responds with enthusiastic kissing and little pleased noises from deep in his throat, but that doesn’t stop you from panicking when he wraps his hand around yours and guides you. “I guess I don’t know how to get humans off,” you mumble against his mouth. It’s not fair. Bulges are pretty intuitive, and there’s not much you can do to them to make them unhappy. Humans are so much more complicated.

“Shh, you’re doing fine. Let me just help a little.” He tightens his hand around yours, revising your grip to something much firmer than you had before, and he guides your hand to a steady pace. He lets out a little moan that goes straight to your groin. God, you have to get him to do that again. You like him being needy—for you. You tighten your grip a little bit more and he gasps and crushes your lips with his, biting them with his silly little blunt teeth.

His hand leaves yours and goes for your bulge again and now you’re the one making sounds. Or rather, you both are. “ _Dave_ ,” you moan into his mouth. This time he knows it’s not because you want him to stop. He whispers your name back and grunts when you thumb over the head of his cock.

You can barely even smell the chemicals anymore. You only smell Dave’s deodorant, his laundry soap, and the salty perspiration on his skin. He tastes a little like blood now from all the damage your teeth are doing, but you kind of like it, as long as you’re not going to have to be swallowing a whole bunch of it. You work your hand over him, and he twists his fingers around you, and you kiss with the passion that’s been building up in each of you for months.

It’s surprising that he’s good enough at this that you’re almost there, given that you’re the first troll he’s done this to. Unless he was lying about this being the first time he saw a troll’s junk, but you don’t think he was. You’re still jealous of how easy it is for him. Your hand is getting a little tired. Maybe you don’t have the right arm muscles built off to properly jerk him off. But fuck if you’re going to give up now. “Eridan, _fuck_ ,” he mumbles, his lips slipping off yours for just a second. You smile back and kiss him harder, moving your hand with the bucking movements of his hips.

He’s figured out just how to pull on you and how to put pressure at the tip of your bulge in a way that’s got you keening into his hand, which is slick with your material. You’re not going to last much longer. You’re finding it harder and harder to focus on kissing him. And it’s getting a little harder to breathe; you’re getting winded and a little light-headed from panting. You’re consoled by the fact that he doesn’t seem to be doing much better.

He makes a little choked noise and kisses you hard, desperately, his hand getting less precise. You don’t mind at all. It’s erotic enough that he’s losing it, breaking down in front of you. You pump him faster and whisper to him. “Come for me. Come on, Dave.”

He grips your free arm tightly with the hand that’s not curled around your bulge and squeezes you. “Fu—ugh— _fuck!_ ” His eyes are shut tight as he comes, getting his material all over your shirt and your hand. You stroke him through, not caring about the mess.

He goes all limp and buries his face in your shoulder. You finally take your hand back, trying to shake it out discreetly so he won’t notice. If he does, he doesn’t say anything. He just breathes into your shirt, still clutching your arm like a koala or something. It’s pretty adorable, and you’re aware of that, but you’re more aware that you haven’t gotten off yet. You start to worry that he’s just done. His hand is lazily stroking your bulge, but not with the same commitment as before.

“Give me just a second.”

“I’ll give you five, but that’s it,” you say, hoping he’ll get that it was a joke. Mostly a joke. You hope he’ll interpret it as a joke but still hurry up.

Six seconds later, his hand is traveling downwards, fingers finding their way between the folds of your nook again, and you inhale sharply, rolling down onto them. He teases you just a little before sliding two of them into you. He rubs against your walls firmly, yet lightly enough to bring the greatest amount of sensation. You brace yourself against the counter again to keep from sliding down into a puddle on the floor.

His other hand takes control of your bulge now. He slides the tip between his fingers and runs them towards the base, closing his hand around all of it and squeezing as he slides back down. You gasp and your arms shake just slightly. His lips press against your throat and he sucks at the softer skin there, scraping his teeth over the spot as it bruises.

It doesn’t take much of this to send you over the edge as well. If he’s surprised by the amount of genetic material, he doesn’t act like it. He just keeps drawing it out of you, thrusting his fingers in your nook and squeezing your bulge. And your legs start to shake, but when it’s over, he holds you up, stroking your back with his messy hands. Or maybe he’s just wiping them off on your shirt. You’re too spent to know or care.

You close your eyes for just a moment, reveling in how it feels to be held by someone you care about. You revel for about a minute before you decide you really want to pull your pants up now.

You detach from Dave and he adjusts himself back into his pants as well, which are very stained with violet gunk. Your own pants didn’t escape the same treatment, and you wiggle back into them, displeased with the uncomfortable wetness, but unable to do anything about it. Walking back to your dorm across the courtyard is going to be…interesting…

“If we were regular art majors, we could just say we were splatter painting,” Dave says, looking down at his pants.

“I don’t know if that would fool anyone. Maybe we shoulda thought this through a little more.”

He shrugs. “Yolo.” He looks down at the floor. “I think there are some paper towels in that cabinet.”

You grimace. This wasn’t exactly the afterglow you were hoping for. But you look at him, and he’s smiling, so maybe this’ll be something you can laugh about later. Maybe you’re not laughing at this very moment, but you are happy he’s here with you.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it, rawrimamidget! I was really excited to get you as my assignment and I really like EriDave, especially as photography students :)


End file.
